She has this fire in her irises when she looks at me. I can’t see it but, I can damn sure feel the way they bore into me from across the room. How does she move so silently, like the wind blowing softly along the floor, only making its presence known when something knocks or falls. Dressed in all black, I could see the night in her every movement. I could feed myself stars from her very being in that moment. But maybe I’m a little too invested in the mysterious girl with the black pullover sweatshirt and matching jeans. Maybe her shiny earrings shouldn’t call out to me one by one to stare at the way they gleam, adding beauty where there was already plenty. She’s gorgeous. And maybe I’m just a little weird for noticing so many little things, but never learning her name.